Madame Doctor
by Terfle
Summary: Mac needs a drastic change
1. Chapter 1

Mac threw down her jacket and ripped off her cravat. The heat was getting to her. It was a bloody sweltering day in Melbourne and outside was not safe. The sun-baked streets were hazy with humidity and the sweat dripped in rivulets in-between her breasts, under her arms and through the waistband of her trousers. She hated having to change all the time but in this weather, a spare shirt was needed every day. She could scarcely wash her brassieres quick enough. At least her room was a cool sanctuary from this blasted heat. She unbuttoned her shirt a little and fanned her neck. Her hair was unravelling and felt hot and heavy. She impatiently took out the pins and combed through with her fingers. Peering into the mirror, she expertly twisted and rolled. Her practiced hands could pin hair in a matter of minutes. For all her liberal ways, Mac had spent her formative years in the Victorian era and some things were hard to shake off. Hair had to be off the face to be useful in her profession.

She looked at her tired face and grimaced. She reapplied her lipstick and a puff of powder and sighed. She was the first to admit that her hair, although lovely in shade, lacked the sort of texture that someone could run their hands through. It was fine and a bit stringy. What woman wasn't vain about something? Doctor Elizabeth MacMillan was a real redhead, thank you very much. Each lover of hers could attest to that. But every so often, everyone needed to maintain a little colour boost. She looked in her box and saw the diminished remains of the henna block. Hmmmm.

The sweat trickled down her neck as she considered her options. Sometimes she wished she could shave her head and…no she wouldn't want to wear a wig like the Ancient Egyptians. No, that wouldn't do. She made a decision while she applied powder under her arms and changed into a fresh shirt. It was now or never. Dabbing some light scented oil on, she stalked off into the street where the furnace reigned. She ignored convention at the best of times and now was a good a time as any other. She had left her jacket behind and damn that cravat. All she needed was her trusted hat to shield her face from the sun. She arrived at the barbershop in desperate need of some water and a cooldown. She'd never been here before but was sure they wouldn't mind.

The bell clanged and a flurry of male eyes turned to her in surprise. She ignored them and asked at the desk for an appointment. The man goggled at her for a moment, then pulled himself together and told her just a minute Madame. A cold glass of water was given to her and she was led to a chair, the male chatter falling silent and drawing away as if she were Moses parting the waves at the Red Sea. Mac paid them no attention. She told the hovering barber, a birdlike French man, to cut it off and make it look presentable. He nodded and took up his scissors. She was not the first, nor would she be the last to set foot in the salon requesting for haircuts a la mode. The other customers would get used to it.

'What kind of profession are you in Madame? For surely you must be a working woman.' He gathered the magnificent mane and brushed it into a careful plait. He had a young daughter at home and knew how to handle such things.

'I'm a doctor at the women's hospital.'

'Ah. A noble profession. I can understand your need to look professional in your everyday life. Might I suggest an Eton crop? Very flattering and easy to maintain with your type of hair.'

Mac considered it, the capable pair of hands poised to trim a part of her away. He reminded her of Phryne's wonderful Mr Butler. Same twinkle in his eye. She nodded. Why not? Cutting her hair was nothing compared to all the strange things she had done in her life.

'Marvellous! Then we start. Might I ask a favour?'

'Of course.'

'Would I be able to retain this glorious plait of hair? I have a young daughter and her doll's hair is looking a little ragged. I would so love to be able to replace the threads with such superior strands.'

She readily assented, pleased that her hair was to be of use and in no time at all, it was shed. The heavy weight of the plait seemed to carry her current burdens and was whisked away quicker than she'd realised. Already her head felt lighter. The men murmured and watched appreciatively as the handsome woman was going to be transformed into something very stylish. A little on the masculine side but her men's attire was duly noted. Perhaps she could fool the doorman at a gentlemen's club. Some of the men wouldn't have minded if she would.

The barber trimmed, cut and then, armed with a tiny doll sized pair of scissors and a razor, carefully shaped a sleek and convenient cap to her head. He made no attempt to make small talk and she was grateful for that, her social skills severely lacking in that department. It was good to sit among men and not shock their prissy sensibilities, the way it was at the Adventuresses Club she and Phryne frequented, a female only space which they gratefully retired to, Mac more so than anyone.

He shook the towel off and presented to her, the new crop. It was sharp and becoming. It made use of the natural wave in her hair which could be exaggerated with finger waves for a more feminine look or slicked back for a more practical use. Very versatile, the barber exclaimed. It suited Madame Doctor very well. Mac thought so too. She examined it in the mirror with feminine grace. She had a very charming smile once she showed it, noted the men in the barbershop. She downed the whiskey offered to her, thanked the barber most profusely and paid at the desk. A generous tip for the barber was required and she gave it freely. Stepping out into the sun, she felt free as a bird. Just wait until Phryne saw this, she was bound to love it. Sauntering down the street with her collar daringly unbuttoned, she ran into a friend and enjoyed the look on his face when he saw her new haircut.

Once Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had realised what looked different about her; he agreed that Miss Fisher would love it, complimented her on her new style with gentlemanly sincerity and bid her goodbye with a smile. She put her hat on for much needed shade and went back to her room, deciding on a night out to celebrate. There was a pretty girl who had joined the snooker crowd at the club recently. Mac hoped she'd be in that night so she could have a chance of picking her up for a drink and a kiss.

It took some getting used to but once she did, she was very grateful to that barber. Phryne loved it, the girl at the club loved it and none of her colleagues had dared voice their disapproval to her. She really didn't miss being weighed down by her Victorian sensibilities.

She gave no more thought to it until a couple of weeks later as someone familiar walked past her in the street. Mac stopped and stared after them as she realised that the doll the barber had talked about was a living breathing one, clutching her daddy's hand as they walked down the road. For there was the barber and his little daughter. A girl with fox red hair. She could spot one when she saw it. A carefully made wig, made from the plait a doctor had carelessly donated.

That clever devoted man had made a little girl very happy. Mac once had a father like that. He was her hero and she was his Lisbet.

Later that evening she raised a glass to clever and devoted fathers all over the world. There weren't enough of them, in her opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

The bell clanged and a flurry of male eyes turned to her in surprise. She ignored them and asked at the desk for an appointment. The man goggled at her for a moment, then pulled himself together and told her just a minute Madame. A cold glass of water was given to her and she was led to a chair, the male chatter falling silent and drawing away as if she were Moses parting the waves at the Red Sea. Mac paid them no attention. She told the hovering barber, a birdlike French man, to cut it off and make it look presentable. He nodded and took up his scissors. She was not the first, nor would she be the last to set foot in the salon requesting for haircuts a la mode. The other customers would get used to it.

'What kind of profession are you in Madame? For surely you must be a working woman.' He gathered the magnificent mane and brushed it into a careful plait. He had a young daughter at home and knew how to handle such things.

'I'm a doctor at the women's hospital.'

'Ah. A noble profession. I can understand your need to look professional in your everyday life. Might I suggest an Eton crop? Very flattering and easy to maintain with your type of hair.'

Mac considered it, the capable pair of hands poised to trim a part of her away. He reminded her of Phryne's wonderful Mr Butler. Same twinkle in his eye. She nodded. Why not? Cutting her hair was nothing compared to all the strange things she had done in her life.

'Marvellous! Then we start. Might I ask a favour?'

'Of course.'

'Would I be able to retain this glorious plait of hair? I have a young daughter and her doll's hair is looking a little ragged. I would so love to be able to replace the threads with such superior strands.'

She readily assented, pleased that her hair was to be of use and in no time at all, it was shed. The heavy weight of the plait seemed to carry her current burdens and was whisked away quicker than she'd realised. Already her head felt lighter. The men murmured and watched appreciatively as the handsome woman was going to be transformed into something very stylish. A little on the masculine side but her men's attire was duly noted. Perhaps she could fool the doorman at a gentlemen's club. Some of the men wouldn't have minded if she would.

The barber trimmed, cut and then, armed with a tiny doll sized pair of scissors and a razor, carefully shaped a sleek and convenient cap to her head. He made no attempt to make small talk and she was grateful for that, her social skills severely lacking in that department. It was good to sit among men and not shock their prissy sensibilities, the way it was at the Adventuresses Club she and Phryne frequented, a female only space which they gratefully retired to, Mac more so than anyone.

He shook the towel off and presented to her, the new crop. It was sharp and becoming. It made use of the natural wave in her hair which could be exaggerated with finger waves for a more feminine look or slicked back for a more practical use. Very versatile, the barber exclaimed. It suited Madame Doctor very well. Mac thought so too. She examined it in the mirror with feminine grace. She had a very charming smile once she showed it, noted the men in the barbershop. She downed the whiskey offered to her, thanked the barber most profusely and paid at the desk. A generous tip for the barber was required and she gave it freely. Stepping out into the sun, she felt free as a bird. Just wait until Phryne saw this, she was bound to love it. Sauntering down the street with her collar daringly unbuttoned, she ran into a friend and enjoyed the look on his face when he saw her new haircut.

Once Detective Inspector Jack Robinson had realised what looked different about her; he agreed that Miss Fisher would love it, complimented her on her new style with gentlemanly sincerity and bid her goodbye with a smile. She put her hat on for much needed shade and went back to her room, deciding on a night out to celebrate. There was a pretty girl who had joined the snooker crowd at the club recently. Mac hoped she'd be in that night so she could have a chance of picking her up for a drink and a kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

It took some getting used to but once she did, she was very grateful to that barber. Phryne loved it, the girl at the club loved it and none of her colleagues had dared voice their disapproval to her. She really didn't miss being weighed down by her Victorian sensibilities.

She gave no more thought to it until a couple of weeks later as someone familiar walked past her in the street. Mac stopped and stared after them as she realised that the doll the barber had talked about was a living breathing one, clutching her daddy's hand as they walked down the road. For there was the barber and his little daughter. A girl with fox red hair. She could spot one when she saw it. A carefully made wig, made from the plait a doctor had carelessly donated.

That clever devoted man had made a little girl very happy. Mac once had a father like that. He was her hero and she was his Lisbet.

Later that evening she raised a glass to clever and devoted fathers all over the world. There weren't enough of them, in her opinion.


End file.
